Water and a Flame
by rosesaregreen
Summary: They were bad for each other...They hurt each other in a way only they could. But they could never stay away no matter how badly it hurt. They were like water and a flame.


**_A/N: So the song Water and a Flame by Daniel Merriweather & Adele (and now Celine has covered it. My heart can't take!) Inspired me to write so I wrote this little onesie. (: comments and request always welcome! _**

* * *

_Seven days has gone so fast, I really thought this pain would pass_

_It's been nearly an hour since I thought of you_

_But you not answering the phone, I'd settle for a busy tone_

_At least by that I'd know you're ok; A girl like you ain't meant to go away_

Something about the feeling of cold air rushing over naturally warm skin brought a purpose to him. It reminded him that his body was still fighting to find homeostasis, still working even against his own mental will. His mind could concentrate on nothing but the sound of that voice and how the absence of it from his ears hurt him. How the smell of her sweet lavender musk brought life to his entire being the moment it would enter his nostrils. It seemed like the colors of the world were less vibrant, less meaningful when she was away. But he was long beyond the feelings of sadness and despair; no, now he was mad. He felt nothing but hatred at her for running away, for not fighting like he fought. But what burned him even more was how desperately he wanted that phone to ring and for her soft remorseful breathing to be on the opposing end of the receiver.

One hour. That's how long he was able to concentrate on his kids and the wife he was supposed to love and the job that he would soon be vacating. His life was shifting and he had to make plans for his future, yet what he wanted was no longer available. He just wanted to know how she was doing, if she was as upset as he. Was she seething, brimming with hatred at the man she chose to push away because of the life he did not choose? Was she sitting, as he was, glass of alcohol in hand and nearly empty, attempting to wash out the loneliness?

Where was she?

What was she doing?

Why was she not here?

Fitz devoured the last of his drink and walked to the thermostat. The mixture of the scotch and the anger stirring inside him was becoming too comfortable. He needed to freeze out the emotions. He needed to numb the pain. He cranked up the air, the lower the temperature the better he would feel.

_I'm tired of this empty house, I need a drink to get me out_

_A couple more til I forget your name_

_I saw a boy who looked like you, I didn't know quite what to do _

_It took all my will to break my stare, I realized what I wanted wasn't there_

* * *

She looked into her wine cellar, the dismay of nothing but empty bottles filling the room upsetting her. Wine was all she had these days, the only thing she could depend on to make her feel halfway decent. It brought her warmth that his strong arms once brought her; the love she drove away with typhoon like force. Most days she found herself looking in the mirror and hating the reflection. The battered woman with thick dark circles and a permanent grimace nauseated her. It made her sick because she knew how to fix it. There was one simple attainable solution, yet she refused to pursue it. She refused to pursue that man. The hurt she felt when she walked away, the literal feeling of her most sensitive organ shattering within her breastplate was one that she wished to forget. But it was a feeling she would not take lightly, one she will not allow herself to feel live again.

She had no choice but to leave: he was married and had children and was the president. He had the codes in his fingerprints. He had a backup plan when they crumbled, and crumble they would have. She had nothing but him, and in the real world, that was nothing. Her heart tried to convince her that he was enough, but she knew better. Her heart has lied to her since the moment she could formulate a sentence. People are temporary in this life; they will walk in and out like the air we breathe. That was what she kept telling herself. Thirty-five years of working to convince herself yet she still did not believe those words.

She still watched him on the television and kept tabs of his happenings. Her Fitz box was never quite locked away for long. She tiptoed her way to the closet where she hid her prized possession and placed it on her bed. She looked over the clippings and pictures and felt her breath escape her at the sight of his face. She shut her eyes tightly to force the film reel of memories to shut down. It worked this time. She was accustomed to her steady flow of tears as she rummaged through the box. Looking at their images together and recalling how desperate they were to make contact or the feeling of when their eyes met and nothing else in those moments amounted to a speck of dust. She reached into her back pocket and bore the new headline to memory: _"President Fitzgerald Grant and First Lady Mellie Grant finalize divorce"_. She needed something to shove this unwarranted feeling of hope out of her forever. There was no chance for them. Their time was up. She took too long. He hated her, and she knew this. He had to hate her if she hated herself.

The clipping was gently placed in the box and she went into her bare kitchen. She watched her prized untouched bottle of scotch resting in the temperature-controlled case. She was never much of a hard liquor enthusiast, her taste for wine a surprising joy that came later in her life. But this bottle was special: it was vintage, 1850 to be exact. More important than the age, he gave it to her. Back in her days of working at the White House, she walked into her office to see the bottle topped with a red bow resting on her desk. She never bothered to read the card, opting to storm to his office and demand he take it back. The way he took her into his arms without a drop of effort and twirled her around the Oval office cameras be damned stunned her.

_"I know you don't drink scotch. But save it for something special. Save it for me_."

She knew what he meant and no matter how many times she outwardly rebuked the idea of their relationship becoming something tangible, she never opened the gift. The bow was still attached and the liquid continued to age. She opened the case and held the heavy bottle in her hands for a moment. It was as if she was holding them, the weight of their emotions and lost words all resting in her hands. Without a second thought she grabbed a glass, twisted the tight glass top and poured herself a hearty amount. Olivia hated the intense burn of the scotch as it slid down her throat, but it was what she needed. It was the end of dreaming.

* * *

_Now you're gone, theres nothing else I want_

_Now that its over, theres nothing else I want_

_What have I done? Looks like I was wrong_

_Is everything meant to change?_

There was nothing Fitz enjoyed more than the freedom to take walks without being bombarded by random people on the street. Since ending his presidency and marriage, his life has slowly been on the rise. Like all post presidencies require, he wrote his book about policy and his life that no one truly cared about but people bought anyway. He went around and did speaking engagements, which he truly did enjoy. Being one on one with the people was something he adored about the campaign trail and it hurt him the most when he realized he could not come through for them while in office. He labored over his decision to not run for reelection for many days and nights, but in his heart he realized he couldn't do it. His heart was no longer in it; it was no longer his dream. His dream left him in the middle of an uncharacteristically cold November night, a simple note of resignation the only reminder that she was ever there. He knew she could see it all: that he was a free man who could roam the streets without fear of watchful eyes. He knew better than to wait for her after all these years, but waiting was all he knew. Without realizing it, the twenty wasted years in his marriage was a laborious waiting game. Each day on the campaign trail was a test of patience until the sun would set and their love could exist in the soft friction of hotel room sheets. And now, he would wait until she found him. He didn't know any better but to wait for his life source.

* * *

_If you see me coming_

_I Look away, look away_

_And if your minds made up_

_I look away, look away_

_If you worry about_

_I'm ok, I'm ok_

It was a beautiful spring day and Olivia relished in the light breeze under the warm sunrays. Something told her today would be a good day and unlike usual, she did not think of ways to combat the feeling. The sky was blue without a cloud in sight, the line in her favorite coffee shop was nearly non-existent, and her current case at OPA was solved without as much as the bat of an eyelash. Her life was beginning to find semblances of normal. There was still never a passing day that she did not think about him, but she was learning to not let that control her emotions. He was out there, single and probably looking for her, but that was a road that neither of them could ever walk down. Olivia knew she would never stop loving that man, but together was something they could never be.

Why did her body and heart stop functioning when she saw that curl? In the middle of this perfect spring day, he was there. Walking towards her on the bustling D.C. crosswalk, he was there clad in a light grey trench and his phone glued to his ear. He clearly had not seen her and she had many moments to get away, but she was frozen in the middle of the street. She had not seen him this close in years and the time had done nothing but cement his irrational good looks. She could feel his warm energy and it was intoxicating to her. All it took was that stray curl that refused to stick with the rest; into his eyes it would go. It reminded her of his personality. All this time she spent weaning herself off this man and instantly she was back at ground zero.

Then he saw her.

The beautiful mouth that so many times devoured her fell slightly and those breathtaking cerulean orbs spread with shock and joy. She instantly dropped her head, changed her direction and sped away. She was no fool and knew this man better than she knew herself; he could be no more than a few steps behind her. She was nowhere near ready for the conversation they were destined to have, so she strut over to the nearby park. They could have some semblance of privacy there. The moment his hand met her arm, it was game over. The tears slipped from her eyes instantly and without any need of effort.

"What are you doing here?" She finally looked into his face and his matching confusion settled her a bit.

"Livvie…" They were both at a loss for words. So much time had passed yet it felt like only a few moments had gone by since their last encounter. "I'm not the president anymore."

"I know."

"I'm not married anymore."

"I know." She refused to look into his eyes. She was already weak and it wouldn't take much for her to completely fall into him.

"There has not been one day…one _moment_ where I haven't thought about you."

"I know." He took a step away from her and looked her over. "I don't know what you want from me."

"I just want you."

"That isn't an option! Not anymore."

"Why not?"

"Too much has happened between us…Fitz…we just aren't good for each other."

"Livvie, we are only good _together_. You know better!"

"Our entire time together was filled with tears and pain and hurt! We hurt each other, Fitz."

"Things are different now. We're in different places now."

"Fitz, you are not _hearing_ me! We are bad for each other. Like fire and ice…Water and a flame. We destroy each other. We can't do this. I can't do this." He smiled at her in that way that she hated. It was the smile he would always give when he knew something she didn't. She knew he was going to say something condescending to trick her into seeing things his way. It was typical Fitz.

"Do you know what happens to a flame when it stops burning?" Olivia scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Answer the question. Seriously."

"I don't know…it smokes?"

"The smoke floats into the air. And what happens to water?"

Olivia thought for a moment. "It condenses?"

"Exactly! It evaporates into the air _with_ the smoke. Do you get it?"

"No."

"Olivia," He destroyed the remainder of space she tried to keep between them. The feel of his hips pressing against hers brought an all too familiar titillation to her. "It doesn't matter how good or bad we are for each other. We _belong _together. If you are the water to my flame, I gladly accept that. It doesn't matter if you douse my fire or if I drive you to steam; we _need_ each other. We fight and we disagree, but I love every moment of it. Livvie, you destroy me with every glance. I forget how to breathe without you. I need you to keep me cool when I get too passionate. You need me to heat you up when you get too stuck in a pattern. We work, Livvie. We need each other." She had never seen this man more serious in her time of knowing him and it frightened her that their relationship was the topic. He no doubt pulled this speech out of his ass but per usual, he had her. It was stupid and a foolish analogy but…it was true. It made sense. They were awful for each other; them combined had enough issues to fill textbooks for potential psychiatrist tenfold. Regardless, together, they were a force to be reckoned with. No one understood her issues like him and vice versa. When she would try to freeze him out, he would always be there with strong warm arms to melt the forming ice around her heart. When he would get angry and try to drown himself away in angry passion, she would be there to remind him who he was. They had a balance that in theory was wrong. But their love defied every theory and idea. They weren't normal and were never destined for anything of the sort.

"Fitz…You have hurt me more than anyone in my life. More than my mother…more than my father…you did it without meaning too. You never left me. You were always there and…I didn't know how to love you. I wanted normal and you couldn't give that me. You still can't give me that and yet…I want you. I need you. And it scares me. It hurts me how badly I need you."

"I know."

"I drank your scotch...I didn't think I could wait anymore. I thought it was over. I spent all those years not touching it and one night I got so weak and just...I thought..."

"Hey." His thumbs were rubbing circles into her cheeks gently, attempting to rid of the tears as they quickly fell. "I'm here now."

"You told me to save it for you. You told me to wait and I couldn't. It hurt too much!"

"I am here now. I am never leaving again. That doesn't matter. None of that matters. _We_ are what matters."

"If we do this—" He shut her up with the meeting of his lips. Words were irrelevant now; they would just complicate everything. This kiss was all they needed to say. His fiery lips fighting against her cool skin was perfection. Things were different now and they could be who they needed to be. They could have each other and be happy if they wanted it. They could live through the pain of their searing love and prove to the world what they already knew.

_All this sorrow and pain is gonna go away__…_


End file.
